Time Out

A piece of hot dog hits the floor. Even though I'm on my computer across the table, I see it fall. I can see her with my special peripheral mom vision, looking at me with her big eyeballs, daring me to stop her.

Without looking up, I say, "A - DO NOT throw your food on the floor. If you're done, just get down."

She drops the rest of the hot dog pieces onto the floor and sweeps her arm across the table so that the plate and the rest of the food nearly follows. With my swift super mom speed, I catch her arm, just in time, before the plate crashes on the ground.

"Are you done with your food?"

She grabs a piece of cheese, goes to put it in her mouth, but then throws it down on the table. I get her out of her chair.

"I want you to pick up that hot dog."

She scurries away to the corner of the kitchen.

"Ok, pick it up or you get a time out. Do you want a time out?"

This can go either way. Some days, she says, NOOOOOOO. No time out. And she just picks it up. But not today. Today, she's in the mood to play games.

"Yes," she says with a big teasing smile, "I want a time out. Will you take me into my room?"

"Ok, go into your room. I will not carry you. You can stay in there until you want to pick up your hot dog. Do not come out until then."

She happily trots off to her room and shuts the door. It takes her 30 minutes, but eventually she trots back out and happily picks up all the hot dog and throws it in the trash. She's a stubborn little goat, but I am a big stubborn goat, and I've been at it longer. I don't want to step on hot dog bits, but I'm also not the little goat's servant.

Oh, the fortitude this parenting takes!